(Today's blog title was Kevin's idea)After our Sunday morning political talk shows we headed out to the Whitewater Draw, a 45-mile drive through Bisbee and across the Sulphur Springs Valley. I wanted to see the sandhill cranes. I got the directions off the internet and found the well-marked wildlife refuge easily: Drive east through Bisbee, continue on Highway 80 at the traffic circle, turn left on Double Adobe Road traveling north toward McNeal until Central Avenue and from here Arizona Game and Fish directional signs guide birders to the eastern platforms along the pond.
A juvenile hawk sat perched on a bullet-holed directional sign on our way to the refuge, seemingly oblivious to us. I photographed the bird from the open window of my truck, inching slowly toward it before the bird showed signs of flying off.
There were more birds at the Whitewater Draw refuge, and many cars to match the birders out there. This was an impressive site: a grassy plain flooded to attract the roosting sandhill cranes and other birds. Signs allowing "Overnight camping" gave me ideas for an overnight trip here...
It was quiet at first as we walked across a wide berm to the middle of the floodplain. Birders were studying the distant geese and cranes in the northern ponds. There wasn't much talking. We saw white snow geese in the middle, swimming closely around each other. In another corner of the pond were other birds, perhaps ducks. American coots, Black Phoebes and various sparrows twittered about.
A lone Bald Eagle sat along the northern edge of the pond watching the waterfowl. One needed binoculars to see the bird. Bald Eagles migrate to southern Arizona and points further south this time of year.
Mesmerized by the various birds floating across the water, I was abruptly interrupted by the unique gawk of sandhill cranes. I recognized that gawk from Texas. At 12:05pm flocks of these birds suddenly flew up from the northern edges of the pond to points further south. More and thicker flocks of these birds flew up from all around us for the next 30 minutes, flying in erratic flocks above us. They circled around far above for a while in no discernible pattern and eventually settled in fields south of the draw . When one flock disappeared, another flock would show up. Sandhill cranes fly in larger flocks than whopping cranes, who prefer smaller family flocks of no more than eight.
Thirty minutes later the midday cacophony was over. Silence resumed except for the twittering of songbirds. The cranes had settled in the fields away from the viewing platforms and birders focused on the Bald Eagle and other birds around us. The Owl Roosting area was void of any activity.
"Where are all the cranes?" asked one newcomer late to the sky show.
"They already flew to the cornfields to our south a few minutes ago...but they'll be back by 4pm."
And Kevin, who kept his binoculars close to his eyes, studied all the birds around the pond. He could see more detail than I could through my Canon.
"What kind of birds are those?" I asked as I pointed at one dark-grey group of floaters.
He smiled at me before responding, with that sarcastic smile I know so well spreading across his face. This was the proverbial I-should-have-known-better-than-to-ask-Kevin smile. In Kevin's birding world there are only three kinds of birds: small, medium and large.
"Those are medium birds!" he fired back. Some help that was!
We stayed at Whitewater Draw for an hour. I could have explored the southern shores a bit more, which basically was a network of trails used by Game and Fish and hunters during the hunting season. The Mule mountains were to our west and high cirrus clouds soared high above us. This was a nice place to sit and enjoy the calls of nature. It was warm enough in the open sun to feel warmth under my fleece.
I stopped several more times on the way home to photograph hawks, falcons and roadrunners along both Coffman and Davis Road. I counted at least nine hawks within a five-mile drive west back toward Highway 80, mostly young hawks perched on the tops of utility poles.
Davis Road came to a T-intersection at Highway 80. The directional sign pointed north toward Tombstone and south toward Bisbee. We had now made a loop around the Mule Mountains.
“Which way do you wanna go?” asked Kevin as we approached this point in the road. He had been a big fan of Tombstone when we first moved to Arizona just to meet the tourists enthralled with reenactors walking the dusty streets of town. Tombstone is a tourist town, but it’s Bisbee that has all the character. With me behind the wheel, I had little problem opting to turn right (south) toward Bisbee.
Highway 80 here is a scenic drive (but then what road in Arizona isn't scenic?). The dry rolling hills between Tombstone and Bisbee open up with a gaping view of the San Pedro Valley and the majestic Huachuca Mountains. The early afternoon sun glistened on several dispersed houses across the valley, prompting shiny spots across the peripheral vision. We were now gaining altitude as we drove toward Bisbee. I turned left on Old Divide Road over Mule Pass to show Kevin the route of travel locals took before the Mule Tunnel was built, and showed him the one small house on West Boulevard that I would have bought if the $229,500 price tag for 886 square feet hadn’t knocked me back to my more practical senses.
I slowed the truck down for him to catch a glance of the remodeled 1908 miner’s hut on the north end of the road.
We stayed at Whitewater Draw for an hour. I could have explored the southern shores a bit more, which basically was a network of trails used by Game and Fish and hunters during the hunting season. The Mule mountains were to our west and high cirrus clouds soared high above us. This was a nice place to sit and enjoy the calls of nature. It was warm enough in the open sun to feel warmth under my fleece.
I stopped several more times on the way home to photograph hawks, falcons and roadrunners along both Coffman and Davis Road. I counted at least nine hawks within a five-mile drive west back toward Highway 80, mostly young hawks perched on the tops of utility poles.
Davis Road came to a T-intersection at Highway 80. The directional sign pointed north toward Tombstone and south toward Bisbee. We had now made a loop around the Mule Mountains.
“Which way do you wanna go?” asked Kevin as we approached this point in the road. He had been a big fan of Tombstone when we first moved to Arizona just to meet the tourists enthralled with reenactors walking the dusty streets of town. Tombstone is a tourist town, but it’s Bisbee that has all the character. With me behind the wheel, I had little problem opting to turn right (south) toward Bisbee.
Highway 80 here is a scenic drive (but then what road in Arizona isn't scenic?). The dry rolling hills between Tombstone and Bisbee open up with a gaping view of the San Pedro Valley and the majestic Huachuca Mountains. The early afternoon sun glistened on several dispersed houses across the valley, prompting shiny spots across the peripheral vision. We were now gaining altitude as we drove toward Bisbee. I turned left on Old Divide Road over Mule Pass to show Kevin the route of travel locals took before the Mule Tunnel was built, and showed him the one small house on West Boulevard that I would have bought if the $229,500 price tag for 886 square feet hadn’t knocked me back to my more practical senses.
I slowed the truck down for him to catch a glance of the remodeled 1908 miner’s hut on the north end of the road.
"How much you guess that's selling for?" I asked as I pointed at the small yellow adobe square house. The mature cottonwood shading the structure looked precariously weak and ready to shed another large branch over the house. The tree alone would be a liability.
"$150,000."
"No, more like $229,500!"
"Holy shit! That's a garage!"
"It’s marketed as a ‘birder’s paradise” I added. That sort of space would be barely large enough for all my “stuff.”
We were now in Old Bisbee.
“You mind stopping at the Grand Hotel for a few beers?” I asked.
“Sure!" Ha, as if asking him for beer would ever elicit a "No!"
And thus we spent two hours having a few micros. I tried a decent Mirror Pond Pale Ale and then a Moose Drool Brown Ale. Laura was our bartender for the afternoon.
“You mind stopping at the Grand Hotel for a few beers?” I asked.
“Sure!" Ha, as if asking him for beer would ever elicit a "No!"
And thus we spent two hours having a few micros. I tried a decent Mirror Pond Pale Ale and then a Moose Drool Brown Ale. Laura was our bartender for the afternoon.
I told her what a great time I had here Christmas Day with the free buffet.
“Oh, that was my idea!” said Laura. “My husband (who also works at the Grand Hotel) and I figured that since we were both working Christmas Day that we might as well cook a full meal and serve it to the guests. That was four years ago and we have been doing that meal every year, Thanksgiving too. It's a very popular event.”
I could tell that Kevin was warming up to this place. The bar was quiet and the only other customers was a local gal, her partner and their nine-year-old Border Collie and Malamute mix named Johnston, who laid quietly on the floor. He seemed to prefer sitting near our stools over those of his owners a few stools down.
Other interesting characters walked in while we were there, all who were welcomed by a cheery greeting by Laura. She knew all the regulars, including a Harley-riding, leather-clad man named “Creature” who I overhead outside admitting to another man during a smoke break outside that he was “tripping on acid.” Creature later on became animated and imitated old Sesame Street scenes with Bert and Ernie and the old Count. Only someone tripping on acid would find something so funny. And what was really ironic was that people like Kevin and me who clearly were not tripping on acid thought he was doing a pretty good job mimicking the old voices of those 1970s characters. (I was a big fan of the purple Count: "One bat ahahahah...two bats...ahahahah...three glorious bats AHAHAHAHAH!")
But like all good things, our time at the Grand Hotel had to come to an end. Kevin wanted to get home early enough to start a mean batch of his chili. His son and cousin are coming over tomorrow night and his chili is a family favorite. I’ll be at my first college class so he’ll have time alone with his son.
“I might go bar hopping with him, starting with the Grand Hotel, then St Elmo’s and then the Stock Exchange Saloon (all bars in Old Bisbee) before we head up to Tombstone” where he's always enjoyed a beer at Big Nose Kate’s. "The last time I was there I met an Englishmen who travels every year to this place." he said.
“Oh, that was my idea!” said Laura. “My husband (who also works at the Grand Hotel) and I figured that since we were both working Christmas Day that we might as well cook a full meal and serve it to the guests. That was four years ago and we have been doing that meal every year, Thanksgiving too. It's a very popular event.”
I could tell that Kevin was warming up to this place. The bar was quiet and the only other customers was a local gal, her partner and their nine-year-old Border Collie and Malamute mix named Johnston, who laid quietly on the floor. He seemed to prefer sitting near our stools over those of his owners a few stools down.
Other interesting characters walked in while we were there, all who were welcomed by a cheery greeting by Laura. She knew all the regulars, including a Harley-riding, leather-clad man named “Creature” who I overhead outside admitting to another man during a smoke break outside that he was “tripping on acid.” Creature later on became animated and imitated old Sesame Street scenes with Bert and Ernie and the old Count. Only someone tripping on acid would find something so funny. And what was really ironic was that people like Kevin and me who clearly were not tripping on acid thought he was doing a pretty good job mimicking the old voices of those 1970s characters. (I was a big fan of the purple Count: "One bat ahahahah...two bats...ahahahah...three glorious bats AHAHAHAHAH!")
But like all good things, our time at the Grand Hotel had to come to an end. Kevin wanted to get home early enough to start a mean batch of his chili. His son and cousin are coming over tomorrow night and his chili is a family favorite. I’ll be at my first college class so he’ll have time alone with his son.
“I might go bar hopping with him, starting with the Grand Hotel, then St Elmo’s and then the Stock Exchange Saloon (all bars in Old Bisbee) before we head up to Tombstone” where he's always enjoyed a beer at Big Nose Kate’s. "The last time I was there I met an Englishmen who travels every year to this place." he said.
Like Kevin said, today was "Just another day in Arizona." No two days are ever the same, and tonight's full moon rise was just another example. This months' full moon will be the largest full moon all year.
http://www.azgfd.gov/outdoor_recreation/wildlife_area_whitewater.shtml
http://whitewaterdraw.org/
http://www.sabo.org/birding/chirsulp.htm#wdwa
http://www.svherald.com/articles/2008/01/27/news/doc479c2fb805f5f601176961.txt
http://www.douglasdispatch.com/articles/2007/12/28/news/doc47755f26d3d3f866767360.txt
The following are just websites to current news of the day and have nothing to do with Whitewater:
http://www.indystar.com/article/20090112/OPINION08/901120317/1291/OPINION08
http://www.post-trib.com/news/1372558,construction.article
http://www.post-trib.com/news/1372047,ropweather.article
http://www.svherald.com/articles/2009/01/12/news/breaking_news/doc496ade5e02558350334596.txt
http://whitewaterdraw.org/
http://www.sabo.org/birding/chirsulp.htm#wdwa
http://www.svherald.com/articles/2008/01/27/news/doc479c2fb805f5f601176961.txt
http://www.douglasdispatch.com/articles/2007/12/28/news/doc47755f26d3d3f866767360.txt
The following are just websites to current news of the day and have nothing to do with Whitewater:
http://www.indystar.com/article/20090112/OPINION08/901120317/1291/OPINION08
http://www.post-trib.com/news/1372558,construction.article
http://www.post-trib.com/news/1372047,ropweather.article
http://www.svherald.com/articles/2009/01/12/news/breaking_news/doc496ade5e02558350334596.txt
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